Pie In The Sky
by alocin
Summary: A Harley-centric tale of thrills, spills and daring-do! Plus sappiness and strait jackets. A work in progress.
1. Chapter 1

**Introduction**

This was a Harley-centric NaNoWriMo project back in 2008 that made it to about 22K words before I ran out of time and plot! It's been languishing forgotten for the best part of two years and is missing a few scenes here and there, plus it needs a bit of a polish. I'm going to work through and try to get it into a more publishable state then upload it as I go, so it may appear in fits and starts. Since it's an [almost] coherent story in it's own right and quite long by my normal standards I'm going to post it separately to the "Waifs and Strays" compilation I've recently started.

Hopefully people might get some enjoyment from it – any reviews or comments would be very welcome!

* * *

**Pie In The Sky Part One**

Try as she might, turning invisible was just not possible. Sure a red and black costume wasn't too bad an outfit choice when a gal was often required to hide in dark corners and poorly-lit alleyways, but at the end of the day she was still being hunted down by a Bat and they weren't known for being put-off by a little darkness.

She was standing on something that squelched unpleasantly and was giving off an odour of rancid milk mixed with cat litter. Harley was beginning to suspect that her split-second decision to dart behind an over-stuffed dumpster was not the world's most cunning choice of hiding place. It wouldn't baffle Batsy for long. In fact it probably wouldn't baffle any six year old with previous experience of playing hide-and-seek.

"Stupid Batman." She muttered under her breath as she stood on tip-toes trying to see over the mountain of garbage in front of her, watching for the swish of a dark cape. "Stupid security guard pressin' the stupid alarm…"

The evening's job hadn't gone entirely to plan.

* * *

"You know what, Harl? This dismal fiscal situation has really made me think." The Joker paced up and down in front of a table-full of half drawn blueprints and scribbled ideas. "Who can trust banks when they're collapsing faster than a poorly built house of cards? We can't just naively assume they'll be around to rob forever. It's high time we built up a more secure nest egg."

Harley had just been glad her Puddin' was in a good mood, and scheming something that didn't seem to involve any pointy-eared rodents for a change. Plus any talk from Mistah J of "nesting" gave her a warm and fuzzy feeling inside that had nothing to do with the prospect of accumulating large sums of cash.

Even after several years she resolutely clung to her daydreams of settling down in a nest of her own and raising a clutch of Joker Juniors. Sure Mistah J might have still been slightly less than enthusiastic whenever she mentioned it, but she knew he'd come around eventually.

When the Joker revealed his plan Harley was a little confused. It seemed relatively straightforward; a small number of specialist hired hands, going in after hours, grabbing the loot, getting away and not making a big scene. No jokes, no laughing gas, no random bystanders getting killed or maimed. In fact the whole thing was almost mundane, and distinctly non-Joker.

Of course she had to open her big mouth and share this observation.

If she hadn't been as quick on her feet that vial of acid might have done a real number on her brand new costume (clean on that morning). But she knew that _he knew_ she'd be able to dodge it, and it was really only a warning shot. He'd even gone on to patiently explain at length, for what he said was the fourteenth time, the difference between a proper Joker-themed scheme of brilliance – designed to case chaos, invoke terror, generally raise a smile – and the run-of-the-mill job to raise finance for the first category.

"There's no fun in baiting the Bat over a nickel and dime bank job by waving a big sign saying 'Joker at work!' If the hired-help in this town had more than two brain cells to share between 'em I'd send them to do it themselves, and wouldn't even have to bother getting my hands dirty with such humdrum stuff." He'd sighed, a martyr for his genius. Harley had sighed as well, but in awe at his self-sacrifice as she curled up beside him on the floor to rub his feet while he finalised the plans.

* * *

A week later, entering the Central Gotham Bank through a rear door with its locks carefully drilled-out, she was only half a step behind her man. He was resplendent as ever in his trademark purple suit and a particularly vibrant acid-green shirt (the one she always thought complimented his eyes just perfectly). His bone-white skin seemed to glow in the darkness next to the black-clad, balaclavaed goons who had been hired to do the more boring parts of the heist.

Harley had ignored them up to this point, and they in turn ignored her, although for slightly different reasons. She was entirely disinterested in the latest nameless hired help; they all knew enough about the Joker to suspect that any interest they showed in the boss's girl might turn out to be hazardous to their health.

Two of the goons took care of the night security guard and disconnected the surveillance cameras, while the rest of the party made their way by torchlight to the basement vaults. While Harley bounced on her feet impatiently, the Joker's interest was focused on the runt amongst his hired helpers.

The small, slight man had begun to regret taking the job about thirty seconds after he met his employer, when all the warning stories he'd heard from former Joker henchmen suddenly seemed a hell of a lot more real. He knelt on the floor next to a dismantled control panel and bundle of wires as he worked on the electronic locks with a palmtop computer, quietly muttering a prayer to whichever patron saint looked out for small-time underworld hired hands, willing the machine to hurry up.

"I thought you were supposed to be experienced at this." The Joker loomed over the small man on the floor, scowling impatiently. "What are you doing with that thing; opening the doors or playing Tetris?"

"Sorry boss – I'm almost done. Just one more minute…"

"You've got thirty seconds. Or I give up on this new-fangled technology and have the other fellas here bash the door down using you as a battering ram."

The man's nervous twitching grew noticeably more pronounced, but a few moments an electronic beep of recognition from the lock announced its satisfaction with the code it had been offered. The two heavies moved forward and swung the goliath door around, revealing nondescript storage room within.

Harley peered around the Joker's shoulder, stretching to get a better look. The walls were lined with small, individual locked drawers, each numbered but otherwise identical. There wasn't the slightest glint of gold or jewellery, and not even one solitary stack of banknotes to be seen. She was frankly disappointed.

"Hey Mistah J, where's all the cash?"

The Joker cracked his knuckles and stepped into the room. "Oh it's here, Harleykins. You just need to know where to look…"

With a flourish he removed a torn-off sheet of notepaper from within his jacket pocket, sticking a pair of half-moon rimless spectacles on the bridge of his nose. He peered through them at the squiggly handwriting.

"Lucky Charms, Pop Tarts, flea powder…" he clapped a hand to his forehead in exaggerated surprise. "Harley, this your shopping list!" He crumpled the sheet of paper into a ball and threw it in her general direction.

"Sorry Mistah J!" Harley called, chasing the list as it skittered across the floor towards the stairs. "I thought I'd lost that! I don't know how it ended up in your jacket..." She quietly suspected he had put it there himself to set up the joke, but she knew better than to ruin the payoff.

"Silly Pooh, you'd lose your head if it wasn't attached by that flimsy neck of yours." Tutting quietly he patted down his pockets and produced another sheet of notepaper from somewhere. "Here we go! First up is number 49714, then 46517…"

With the aid of trusty crowbars several boxes were prised open, but each contained only dusty manila folders and bundled papers. As the Joker read off more numbers and the goons levered away, Harley eyed them curiously.

"Puddin', what's so valuable about dusty old folders?"

"It's what's in the folders that's valuable, my little nitwit. These," he removed another folder from the latest box to be prised open, "are bearer bonds. I've been doing some research. They're completely untraceable, and much easier to carry than suitcases of cash! It's the perfect way to finance any number of genius schemes."

Harley leafed through one of the folders, finding it hard to believe that a few sheets of paper could really be the equivalent of a suitcase of cash. They certainly lacked the shiny glint of jewellery or the intoxicating smell of a stack of freshly printed bank notes, but as the gal who usually got lumped carrying the goods she did appreciate their portability.

One of the goons suddenly paused mid-way through prising open the final box on the list. He frowned, straining to listen for a half-heard but familiar sound. "Hey, do you guys hear that?"

The smaller man who had been packing away his electronic equipment took a few steps away from the vault doors back towards the stairs, cocking his head to one side. "That sounds like sirens."

"Yeah – a whole bunch of sirens." The first man growled. "Coming this way. What's the betting there's another big job going down in this neighbourhood at exactly the same time?"

The safe-cracker threw his hands up in frustration. "Man, we're so blown."


	2. Chapter 2

**Pie In The Sky Part Two**

"Who's blowing what? I distinctly remember saying no explosives!" The Joker angrily turned from examining the pile of bonds and certificates to see the hired goons all edging towards the stairs. "What are you numbskulls blathering about?"

"Uh, we got company boss." Offered the bolder of the heavies who had first heard the sirens, now a steadily growing whine.

"Someone triggered the alarm." The Joker kept his voice deceptively calm, which Harley recognised as a sign that someone's blood was probably about to be spilt. "Which of you geniuses was responsible for dealing with the security guards? You did remember there were two of them?"

"Uh – two?" The other heavy squeaked, a look of horror suddenly creeping across his face. "There was only one in the security office…"

"It seems we have a winner in the Idiot Henchman of the Week competition! Want to know what your prize is?" With a short yelp of terror the man turned and raced up the stairs. "Don't worry it's redeemable any time!" The Joker turned to Harley with a sigh. "Remind me to kill him if I ever see him again – for the good of the gene pool, if nothing else."

"Um, sure Puddin' – but what about the cops?"

"Oh pish posh; you know the Gotham police couldn't catch a cold. But you can bet Batsy's pricked up those pointy ears of his too. This is just typical!" He almost stamped his feet in frustration. "I'm not getting picked up for a two-bit bank job – I'd never hear the end of it from those dullards back at Arkham."

The remaining two goons had already split, but the Joker paused just long enough to stuff the bundle of bonds and folders into a bag that he shoved at Harley before taking off up the stairs. She stuck to his heels as they ran across the main hall, now lit by the flashing lights of the police cruisers pulling up outside. Two uniformed officers were already at the glass front doors, and the muffled shouts suggested they'd been spotted.

The Joker laughed as he spun on his heel. "Exit, stage rear I think Harl!"

Harley clutched the thankfully light bundle of loot to her chest as they left through the back door and ran out into the side street adjacent to the bank. "We're cuttin' it pretty fine, Mistah J."

"Don't be such a worry-wort." He called behind him as he set a fast pace away from the front of the building. "Just keep an eye out for flying rodents."

Harley immediately felt as though glaring dark eyes were watching from every rooftop, and tried to keep one eye on the sky and one on Mistah J as she followed in his wake. So she spotted the swish of black cape first. "Urk! Puddin'…"

The black cape solidified into the unsmiling visage of Batman a few yards ahead of them in the deserted street. "Stop right there, Joker."

The Joker skidded to a neat halt with Harley colliding untidily into the back of him, though he gave no indication of noticing. "Why Batsy! What brings you out on a lovely evening like this? Midnight stroll?"

"Save it for your statement to the police before they ship you back to Arkham."

"Why I don't know what you could possibly be talking about! Me and Harley here were just out for a night on the town, weren't we Harl?" He draped an arm around her shoulders, including her in the joke.

"Um, sure we were Mistah J!" She sidled closer under his arm and tried to portray as much confused innocence as she could muster. "Dinner and dancin', all that jazz."

The Joker grinned across at his impassive audience. "Just good clean fun."

"Don't bother, Joker. You're not two blocks away from the bank; even a child could put two and two together."

Harley inched even closer to the Joker, who had adopted a look of shocked outrage. "Don't say some villainous hoodlum has been causing trouble this evening? Honestly this town really is going to the dogs…"

"Enough talking. Do you want to do this the dignified way or do I have to render you half-conscious first?"

That got Harley riled, and she took a few steps forward. "Hey! Don't you talk to my Puddin' like that! You'll haveta go through me first!"

"That's the spirit, Harl!" The Joker called from somewhere behind her. She turned to see him disappearing around a corner in a flash of purple.

"What the- Puddin' leaving me one-on-one with him ain't exactly fair!" She called plaintively, then turned to see the scowling face of Batman directly in front of her. "Eep!"

Not being entirely prepared, she did the first thing that came to mind and threw the bag of bonds at his head. They bounced off his armoured pointy head harmlessly (she suddenly missed the heavy suitcases full of cash) but it was enough of a distraction for her to dart around him and run off in the opposite direction to Mistah J.

Harley hadn't been sure whether Batman would choose to follow her or go after her Puddin' – she was under no illusions as to which of the two of them he would consider to be more dangerous, and thus more important to get back to Arkham. But she was much closer – Mistah J had been able to get a short head start, but if Batsy were following her he would be right on her tail. Would he go for the small bird in the hand or a chance at the giant Thanksgiving turkey-sized bird in the bush?

As she ran Harley resisted the temptation to look behind her, but swore she heard the nearly-silent swoop of a swishing cape. Her costume might have been revealing but at least it was aerodynamic, and she hoped that might give her the edge as she darted into a particularly dank and forbidding alleyway. She'd been looking for a fire escape or even a study-looking drainpipe she could climb up and use to get some height, but instead there was just the dumpster and the mountain of garbage.

Which is how she'd ended up playing hide and seek with the Bat, and wishing she had picked a slightly better spot.

Bored and cold, and deciding that Batman must have picked Mistah J to follow after all, Harley was just about to abandon her hiding place and head back to the hideout when she felt all the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. She gingerly turned to look behind her, and nearly jumped out of her skin when she felt a heavy gloved hand land on her shoulder.

"Geez Louise! Doya have to creep up on people like that?" She shrugged Batman's hand away and edged as far as she could before her back hit the metal side of the dumpster. Nowhere else to go.

"Never underestimate the element of surprise." The dark figure said, staring at her evenly from behind the mask.

"Yeah, thanks Bats. I'll remember that for when I take up vigilante classes at night school."

"Do you want to prolong this any more than necessary?"

Harley shrugged half-heartedly. "Mistah J's probably on the other side of town by now. I'm cold, I'm tired an' I smell like week-old garbage." She offered up her wrists. "If you want to tell them I gave you a concussion or somethin' though before you got me, that'd be great."

He frowned as he fastened the handcuffs. "Lying to the police is a felony."

Harley shook her head in despair. "Oh live a little, Bats!" He just continued to frown as he escorted her down the alleyway, back towards the bank and the waiting arms of the police officers.

It looked like it was time to check back in to Arkham.


	3. Chapter 3

**Pie In The Sky Part Three**

To Harley, arriving back at Arkham always felt like returning to high school after the summer break. There'd be a few minor cosmetic changes – maybe someone would have finally painted over the worst of the scrawls on the rec room walls, or maybe there would be some new hard-to-reach blood stains on the ceiling – and there would be the "new kids", still trying to get their heads around a confusing schedule of therapy and "purposeful rehabilitative activity sessions" while trying to avoid trouble with the older, bigger or just downright crazier kids. But mostly it was a welcome back to familiar faces and familiar surroundings, even if she was there under sufferance.

While Doctor Leland wasn't exactly thrilled she was still being brought back by Batman rather than committing herself voluntarily, her former colleague seemed glad she didn't need to be admitted via the infirmary. ("A pleasant change, Harley!") Instead it was a boring and straightforward process, with the only highlight being the knowledge that another stuffy old judge would be woken in the middle of the night by a telephone call requesting her court-ordered committal be reissued. The call was so brief Harley suspected the old coot had just authorised it in his sleep.

So her re-admittance ended with her being escorted by two guards back to the cell she had only left two months previously. Being the middle of the night, the women's high security corridor was shrouded in darkness, with only a few soft lights set near the floor reflected in the glass doors of the individual cells. Harley knew Ivy was probably still in the cell next to her old one, but she resisted the temptation to knock on the glass and wake her friend up to say hello. There would be plenty of time to catch up later.

She couldn't wait to find out all the latest gossip that was the inevitable result of mixing dozens of villains, psychotic criminals and miscellaneous oddballs together in a confined space. At least 95% of it was to do with so-and-so's latest brilliant scheme to defeat Batman, but some of the other stuff could be really juicy. Who'd have thought that Professor Crane was secretly afraid of the dark and had been prescribed a nightlight by his doctor, or that one of Eddie's floozy henchgirls had been seen in the Iceberg Lounge all over Croc like a particularly nasty rash?

Once the guards electronically locked the door to her cell and left her alone on the other side, Harley collapsed back onto the institution-thin mattress with a sigh. Grey ceiling matched the grey walls, grey sheets and grey pyjamas that had replaced her harlequin costume. She mentally made a note to ask for some of her old drawings back if they still had them in storage, to brighten the place up. And an extra pillow. And her Mistah J plushie…

Harley woke up with a start as the main lights were switched on. "Eh? Whatssat?" If she'd overslept and hadn't got Mistah J's breakfast ready she'd really be for it…

"Good morning, Harley." A familiar voice called from the adjacent cell. Ivy? Arkham – oh yeah! The feeling of panic dissipated as quickly as it had appeared.

"Hiya Red!" She called back sleepily, sitting up and running a hand through her mussed-up pigtails. "Howdja know I was back?"

"You still snore like a buzz saw." Ivy sounded part-amused and part-exasperated, as she so often did when dealing with her troublesome friend.

Harley giggled sheepishly, walking across to stand next to the glass door at the front of her cell so she could hear her neighbour more clearly, even if they couldn't see each other. "Sorry Red – guess I fell asleep on my back the minute I lay down. All that hide and seek with Batman last night was pretty tiring, I can tell ya!"

"Did he bring that creep back here as well, or did the clown use you as a distraction again so he could get his cowardly hide away in one piece?" Ivy's adopted the scathing tone she seemed to reserve for talking about the Joker.

"It wasn't like that," Harley protested. "I'm sure Mistah J didn't mean for me to get caught. It was my fault for not pickin' a better hiding spot, or at least a slightly less stinky one I could've stayed in longer..."

"Sure, Harl." Though she couldn't see her friend, Harley was sure she was rolling her eyes. Over the years they'd both come to understand, if not quite accept, that they would have to agree to disagree on the subject of the Joker. But it didn't stop Ivy from regularly offering her opinion on what she believed to be Harley's delusional infatuation.

Harley decided to cut her off before she could launch into another one of her lectures. "Hey, Red – what's the latest happenings then? I heard the Puppet-guy had a fallin' out with Harvey and threatened to sandpaper off the other side of his face!"

A dismissive snort of laughter demonstrated what Ivy thought of that rumour. "Psh! Nothing ever stays straight once it gets outside these walls. Chinese whispers. It was completely the other way around! Just as they were serving lunch three weeks ago there was a disagreement between the two – or rather four – of them over the last serving of lasagne…"

* * *

After going through the standard re-admittance interview with Dr Leland ("I kinda got a bit behind with my meds but I'm feelin' fine, honest – fit as a fiddle… yeah I know who I am and where I am… nope, Mistah J is still the centre of my universe…) Harley found herself re-prescribed the usual multi-coloured cup of Arkham candy, which she took quietly to avoid causing a fuss. Even as an intern she'd known all the usual tricks patients employed to dispose of unwanted medication, and if the staff were paying any kind of attention they'd notice and she'd just end up being put in a straitjacket twice a day to be forcibly given them instead.

She never noticed a great change in her mood or behaviour when on the meds. It was just a bit harder to wake up in the morning, she felt a little sleepy mid-afternoon, and she liked to blame them for putting on a few pounds whenever she was at Arkham. Though to tell the truth it was probably more to do with the three square meals a day rather than surviving solely on cereal and cold takeout, plus the lack of regular running half way across the city's rooftops to escape the Bat.

After her meds and re-admittance were signed off she was allowed to participate in the daily schedule of activities, and that meant the hightlight of her day when she was confined at Arkahm – an hour of free time in the rec room. Even the dull grey surroundings of her cell couldn't dampen her enthusiasm and she waited expectantly for the guards to arrive and escort them to the communal area.

"Yay Red, I can see all the old gang again! Harvey and Eddie and the Professor and the Puppet-guy…"

"I'm surprised Batman has any crime left to fight with almost all the villains of note currently incarcerated." Ivy commented from her own cell, ignoring Harley's bouncy enthusiasm.

"Hey – don't forget Mistah J! He's got some real big plans lined up. But I don't know who he'll get to help him while I'm stuck in here." She sighed morosely. "Poor Puddin', I know he's strong but I bet he's missin' me. I hope he remembers to eat something, he can get so wrapped up in his work he forgets..."

Ivy privately thought it would be wonderful if the Joker starved himself to death, and left nothing but a skeleton surrounded by half-scribbled deathtrap ideas and rubber chickens. As Harley seemed to have swung into one of her more mournful moods she decided not to share this with her friend to avoid the inevitable tears that would follow, and tried her own brand of reassurance instead. "Oh be realistic Harley; the Joker is big enough and ugly enough to take care of himself. If years of taunting Batman can't kill him I'm sure a few skipped meals won't either."

"But you don't know him like I do!" Harley protested weakly. "Mistah J works himself into the ground when he's caught up in a big scheme. He won't eat, he won't sleep. I usually end up wearin' any meals I cook for him. I switch to sandwiches when he's real bad; they're less scalding than soup."

"I can see why you'd fret; the poor dear is clearly helpless without you."

Harley was beyond noticing Ivy's sarcasm. "He's not helpless! I know he'll get by, but I try to make life more comfortable for him and I don't like seein' him have to rough it while I'm not around." She looked around to check there were no staff nearby and edged closer to the glass, lowering her voice. "Anyway – I'll got a trick or two still up my sleeve, and with a bit of luck I'll be out in a week or two and be able to get back where I belong."

"Seriously, Harl? You'd waste an escape plan to make sure the Joker has enough clean socks and takes a lunch break in between plotting whatever vile scheme he has lined up?"

"Keep it down, Red!" Harley looked around nervously, but there was no one nearby to have overheard Ivy's outburst.

"Honestly I don't know why I bother still trying to talk sense into you. You're less receptive than the fake plastic houseplant on the nurses' station."


	4. Chapter 4

**Pie In The Sky Part Four**

Ivy continued giving her the cold shoulder, but once she was released into the relative hubbub of the rec room Harley forgot to stay down about it.

To most people the rec room was just a slightly shabby and decidedly institutional quarter of the asylum. There was a caged-off television occupying one corner, a few ratty sofas congregated around it. The battered pool table jostled for space with several cafeteria-style tables that once belonged to the dining room, all bearing the scars of countless hours of bored graffiti with whatever slightly sharp implement (normally a plastic spork) the artists had to hand. But throw in the two-dozen high security mental patients and the handful of criminally insane inmates who shared this space, all of whom often wanted to watch different channels or play pool simultaneously, and it was clear why Harley loved the daily hour of rec-room time so much.

"Hi guys!" She called cheerily, waving to the small group who had claimed the two least-ratty sofas with the best view of the television. They muttered their greetings with varying degrees of enthusiasm as Harley vaulted over the back of the sofa to land with a bounce on the empty seat to the left of Jonathan Crane.

"Back so soon, Harley?" Asked the slight man, looking more insubstantial than usual without the straw padding of his scarecrow costume.

"Yeah, Professor. Not exactly how I planned to spend my weekend, y'know?" She shrugged at the minor inconvenience of being locked back at Arkham in the grand scheme of things. "But it's nice seein' you all again. How goes the whole reigning-the-world-through-terror deal?"

"Splendidly – thank you for asking." He smiled, a glint appearing in his eyes. "In fact very soon the walls of this asylum will tremble with the screams of guards rather than inmates! Then they'll know the true folly of their…"

"Oh don't encourage him." Nigma interrupted in a bored tone, breaking both Crane's speech and his train of thought. "He's been spouting various vague threats along those lines for the past three weeks, but there's been precious little sign of any following through with any action."

"You'll see." Crane muttered quietly to himself. "Just wait until I find some of my old supplies. You'll eat your words when you're cowering behind this sofa."

Eddie smiled smugly. "I'll believe it when I live it, Johnny."

"You two are worse than an old married couple sometimes." Ivy pronounced as she arrived on the scene. With only two seats left, she faced a choice between acknowledging Harley again by sitting next to her or having to squeeze in between Harvey and the Hatter. Given the smirk on both sides of Harvey's face, the former option seemed to be the lesser of two evils and Harley brightened as her friend took the seat next to her.

"I think they'd make a cute couple." She offered, buoyed by Ivy's at least partial recognition of her existence. "It's pretty socially acceptable these days too. There's, like, gay wedding planners and everything." Crane and Nigma both glowered silently and shifted imperceptibly further away from each other.

"It's wonderful how the quality of conversation seems to improve whenever you're with us." Harvey commented with a gravely tone as he eyed up Harley from the opposite sofa. "There's been not one mention of gay weddings at all in the past two months. I don't know how we've coped."

"Glad to be of service!" Harley beamed, oblivious to the sarcasm. Ivy narrowed her eyes in warning, needing little invitation to dispense wrath in Dent's direction. She still might have been annoyed with the scatty blonde but she wouldn't tolerate any additional inanity from the male juvenile idiots she was forced to spend time with while confined at Arkham.

"It must be quiet on the outside with everyone stuck in here. Thanks to Batman." Dent growled the name, which resulted in a predictable glare or twitch from the surrounding villains. They had all had their admission to Arkham courtesy of the Bat on more than one occasion.

* * *

"Miss Quinn?" A voice called out across the room.

"Who's askin'?" Harley asked without looking turning her head, cautious to establish what the deal was before volunteering for something she might later regret. The fact that half the inmates in the room had paused in what they were doing and were staring in her direction was somewhat of a giveaway but she stuck to her guns.

"I've got some personal effects that were requested from storage."

"Ooh – it's me! It's me!" She bounced out of her seat and rushed over towards the door and the impassive guard who was clutching a cheap cardboard storage carton that seemed to have seen better days.

"Shelves down there are stacked to the ceiling with contraband and unclaimed junk." The guard grumbled as she excitedly grabbed the box from his arms. "God know why we bother keeping it all."

"Yeah, well, no one asked you, bub." Harley muttered, ignoring him as she returned to the group of curious observers.

"What's in the box?" Eddie enquired.

"Stuff I left behind after my last 'unscheduled discharge'." She prised open the box and rifled through it, disturbing a fair quantity of dust. "My drawings from art therapy – I was getting' good! And the doodle Mistah J did for my birthday – Batsy being eaten by the Babies!" She clutched the crayon-covered napkin to her chest.

"So it is just junk then?"

"It's not junk!" She replied indignantly. "We don't all think walls covered with question marks is this century's highpoint of interior design."

"It's a theme!" He shot back hotly, but Harley had returned her attention to the contents of the box.

"Hey, this ain't mine." She pulled out a dog-eared copy of _Strange Case of_ _Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde_.

Harvey's eyes narrowed. "Gimme that!" He leaned across and snatched it from her hands, flipping through the first few pages. "This is mine! Those incompetent bastards who run this place said they'd lost it the last time I got out."

Harley heard Ivy mumble something about 'being a walking cliché', but stayed focused on Two-Face. "What's your book doin' in with my stuff?"

"It must have got mixed up when they were re-organising that black hole they call a storage locker. If they threw out all Nigma's stupid puzzle props-"

"Hey!"

"-and the dozens of hideous suits the Joker's had confiscated over the years, maybe there'd be a bit more space."

Harley moved more drawings aside and produced a plush Batman doll; a toy made by the same local company as her Joker plushie. "This sure as hell ain't mine either!"

The latest find provoked a barrage of comments.

"Who in their right mind would have a Batman doll?"

"This is Arkham, remember? There aren't a whole lot of right minded people about."

"Why hasn't it been dismembered, or melted or something?"

"Does it talk? I bet it spouts self-righteous drivel just like the real thing."

Professor Crane brought the discussion to an end by swiftly plucking the toy from Harley's grasp. "It's mine thank you very much; a prop for one of my experiments. And if you don't mind I have work to be doing." With that he stood up and stalked across the room, requesting to be taken back to his cell and heedless of the confusion left in his wake.

"Is it just me or is Johnny getting more screwy?"

"Maybe he's tryin' out voodoo," Harley suggested. "Y'know – sticking pins in it and givin' Bats a headache or indigestion."

She returned to her work, rummaging down to the very bottom of the box and triumphantly brought out her Mistah J plushie – resplendent in a miniature purple suit with a neatly hand-stitched grin. "There you are Mistah J! Don't worry, you won't be shut in a box with that nasty Batman any more." She cuddled the dusty doll tightly, then sneezed several times. "Geez haven't they heard of vacuum storage? He's a collectable!"


End file.
